


God's Going to Cut You Down

by cantletgo



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: but for now its the back and forth of the o.g. characters i need, idk if people like this maybe i'll write more, not really sure where this takes place in canon, not really sure why i'm writing it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-14 02:58:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15379209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantletgo/pseuds/cantletgo
Summary: In the wake of a string of civilian overdoses, Raymond Reddington brings the task force their next case. The Blacklister known as Cheval has released an extremely potent and dangerous string of heroin that has flooded the streets, overwhelming local police. But Agent Keen has a hunch there's more to the story when investigating a crime scene of one of the users. Something catches Red's eye that leads him to make a mysterious phone call and fall off the grid. On this rollercoaster of a case, Liz uncovers some dark truths about the man she knows as Raymond Reddington.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Full Disclosure: No idea where this takes place in canon, what has or hasn't happened, or if this is going to be an AU of sorts, but I just wanted to write a fic with the Red and Liz banter I loved, as close to in character as I could get and see where it leads naturally.
> 
> Also** I am hardcore Lizzington but I want to play with Liz finding out the imposter theory in a more intimate way than the "post-Agnes and Tom baby arc"

“You need to eat.” He extended the bag closer towards her. Her side eye gave him all the information he needed and yet he persisted.

“I picked it up from a charming little taqueria around the corner. This sweet old woman looked like she’d been cooking tortas for decades.” He opened the white paper bag a bit and sniffed it dramatically, taunting her.

“If you don’t eat it, I’ll have to and that will just blow my diet for the week. I might as well go across the street and grab that bearclaw I’ve had my eye on since we got out of the car.” His incessant talking was the trigger she needed. She threw up her hands and snatched the bag.

“He knew we were coming, but how?” Liz poked over the still steaming hot bag of popcorn on their target’s desk.

The wide open window blew a nice breeze through her hair and tipped her to their next clue. She dug into the bag for a half wrapped torta while looking out over the window ledge. There was no fire escape or plausible way down from the fourteen-story walkup aside from tactical equipment or super powers. She took a bite from the sandwich. It was delicious and for a brief second, she let it show. Red jaunted with delight and approaching her with his annoying _i’m-always-right_ smile. Before she could even swallow the bite, his hand wrapped around her wrist in an intimate nature. His eyes locked with hers, almost asking permission and with a second of patience he waited for her to pull away. When she didn’t, he lifted her hand, putting the sandwich in munching distance. He took a modest bite and flicked his tongue salaciously, collecting the stray crumbs of the flatbread.

Red courteously placed his hand over his mouth as he finished chewing, but something caught his eye and pulled him away. His body stiffened and head tilted, focused again, a dog on scent. He exchanged a silent language of glances with Dembe before heading for the door.

“I’m sorry Agent Keen, as delicious as that sandwich is, duty calls.”

“Don’t kid yourself Reddington, you have no duty.” Ressler sniped from the corner. “So how about you stay and actually help us solve this case?”

“Ah Donald, always a pleasure to discuss the higher points of honor with you but I’m afraid I don’t have the attention span or time to explain the color grey to you.” Red pulled on his jacket and snatched the fedora from the entrance table before hustling out the door, phone already in hand dialing the next number.

“Dembe, I swear, do not let me have anymore carbs. The first three days are really the hardest to break the…” Red’s voice trailed off down the hallway of the apartment complex until it was just Liz, Ressler, Navabi, and a few techs documenting the crime scene.

...

 

“Walk me through it,” Harold Cooper wasted no time starting the briefing.

“Sir, what we know so far is limited. Reddington brought us our next blacklister without a name, only a string of overdoses left in his wake.”

“So we’re chasing a dealer?” Cooper’s voice tinged with annoyance but encouraged Liz enough to think outside the box.

“Maybe, at least, that’s what it seems they want us to think.” Liz clicked open the next slide in the briefing. “The strain of heroin we’re chasing is very specific and a new brand on the streets that most wouldn’t recognize. Lucky for us, that makes it easy to work backwards to a supplier.”

“Nothing is ever easy, this doesn’t sit right.” Ressler eyed Keen, still curious of Red’s sudden departure yesterday. 

“No, but for now, it helps us ease some of the pressure for local law enforcement. Small fish or not, Reddington found the string of overdoses to be suspicious enough to put it on our radar. Go and track down the first dealer on Aram’s list and find the source of all this mess.” With that, Cooper ascended the stairs to his overlooking office.

“Have you still not heard anything from Mr. Reddington?” Aram’s worried voice pulled Liz out of her contemplation. 

“No. He can take care of himself and let us do the heavy lifting.” She couldn’t hide the spite from her voice. She reached for her jacket and walked determined to the elevator, Ressler close behind. 

“I’ll send the coordinates to your phone. His name is Emilio Tyler and he has a long record, be careful!” Aram’s worry sewed seeds of doubt in Liz’s gut. She’d dealt with her fair share of drug dealers and distributors in her time with the New York Psych unit, but the way Red’s attention turned a 180 had her on alert. A little caution would go along way until she figured out how this tied into the now off-the-grid Raymond Reddington.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aram finds the name of one of the dealers and sends Ressler and Liz to investigate. After two days and no word from Reddington, Liz grows impatient and strikes out on her own to find out what spooked Red and where it might have taken him.

Liz stared at her phone, four unreturned calls to Nick’s Pizza. She didn’t expect Red to pick up, but at the very least Dembe should. This time she was determined to leave a message. The endless ringing caused a rise in her gut, knowing full well no one would answer, but the anxiety of Red’s silence ate her alive. Where was he?

“Dembe, I don’t know where Red ran away to but I swear to God if he doesn’t call me back in the next twenty four hours I will make tracking him down my top priority and I’m guessing that’s the last thing he wants right now. Call me.” She ended it firmly and shoved the phone back into her jacket pocket. 

“Keen, we’ve got something.” Ressler nodded to a slightly ajar door at the end of the alley Aram sent them to. A bit cliché for a dealer, but then again this all felt too easy. 

“Ressler, be careful.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think and her hands already hovering over her firearm. 

Keen’s jumpiness put Ressler on guard. After being partners for so long his body moved in sync with her’s without much thought. His eyes stayed trained on the door while his right hand gripped the hilt of his gun at the same time Liz reached for her’s. She took guard of his back and the two moved forward to investigate the sewer drenched back room.

It was dark and musty, light barely bleeding in from a half-covered skylight. A rat scurried in front of the door causing Ressler to draw his weapon and flashlight. The dripping of water cut through the silence and the sticky nervous energy the pair brought with them. They couldn’t help but feel they were walking into a trap. That’s when they saw him, a slouched body leaned up against the molded wall. He was delirious, barely conscious and wrapped up like a present just waiting for them to storm in and find him. Liz recognized his photo from the ones Aram sent on their way over. This was the dealer they were here for and if they didn’t get him to a hospital soon, they’d lose another lead. 

“Emilio Tyler,” Ressler called out. The boy’s eyes half opened in spacey recognition. “FBI, we have a couple questions for you.” 

Tyler moaned softly in response. His arms looked like that of a user, not a dealer. The stink of his clothes gave Keen enough indication to know he hadn’t seen a home in a while. If she looked further into his records she was sure she wouldn’t find a family, more than likely a few halfway houses in his past. His profile suggested he was an orphan, but no records existed before his eighteenth birthday, a strange oddity. However, the only danger he seemed to pose right now, was to himself. Liz holstered her gun and crouched closer to the nearly unconscious boy. 

“Emilio, we’re not going to hurt you. But we need your help to find who did this to you.” Liz took a motherly approach hoping it would yield the most effective and time efficient results. Ressler picked up on her demeanor shift and lowered his weapon, taking a step back and reassessing his surroundings. He still felt uneasy, but this boy wasn’t the threat they thought they were walking into. There had to be something else.

“It’s you,” Tyler’s eyes opened as wide as he could muster and in a befuddled shock, he visibly slinked back.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” Liz now took a cautious curiosity and wracked her brain. She was sure she’d never seen this kid before, she would remember those eyes. They were crystal clear green, unlike any she’d seen before, unmistakable even. 

“Keen,” Ressler let out a warning. 

“No, stay away. Please.” Tylers slunk away further from Liz, attempting to lean back on an arm instead of the wall and collapsed in his weakened state. 

“I need an ambulance to the north side of…” Ressler was already on the phone calling in backup. Liz reached down to pick up their suspect. Too much movement had finally knocked him unconscious.

“Do you know this guy?” Ressler said, holding the phone off his ear a bit. “What the hell did he mean by that?” He couldn’t determine if the guy was scared of cops or Keen specifically. But whatever it was, he definitely recognized Keen enough to wake him from a drug induced delirium. It was enough fear to override his temporary mental paralysis. Something had this kid as spooked as these seasoned agents. The dripping water finally landed on Liz’s nose, causing her to jump back onto her feet before she could understand what it was.

“Book him and call me when he’s stable.” Liz tried to calm down before Ressler could realize just how on edge she was before turning towards the only remaining light in the building, the swinging door in which they entered. 

“Where are you going?” Ressler grabbed her shoulder, suspicious and worried. She didn’t pull away from the contact. She had a hunch and if it amounted to anything, she sure as hell couldn’t tell the task force. So she opted to side-step the question, 

“I’ll call Aram and get all the CTV feeds from this area for the last three hours. Hopefully when we scrub through them we’ll find the last person to see Emilio conscious, or better yet, the next victim he dealt to.” Liz pulled out her phone and successfully pulled away from Ressler.

 

…

 

The crime scene was still taped and marked when Liz showed her badge to the FBI agent guarding the last place she’d seen Reddington. She was lucky they hadn’t cleaned the place yet so she still had a chance to figure out what triggered him to run in the opposite direction. As she retraced her steps, her mouth watered thinking about the torta he’d brought and she decided to try Red one more time.

Dembe picked up on the fourth ring.

“Agent Keen, now is not a good time.” Dembe’s words were calm but purposeful. 

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of him for the past two days, where the hell did you two go?” Liz glanced out the still open window again, feeling a eerie tingle up her spine. 

“I’m sorry Elizabeth, but there’s nothing more I can say.”   


“Wait-” she pleaded for a few more seconds. She stopped in front of a picture on the suspect’s dresser. It seemed like any ordinary picture, a young boy out on the front lawn. In the background, an older man, seemingly the boy’s father, held a briefcase heading to his car. He wore a pair of gloves but also had another pair tucked in his pocket, sticking out the back. 

“He brought us this case Dembe, he gave us this name. I don’t know why he’s after some two-bit drug pusher or what spooked him at the apartment, but tell him I’ll find out. Whatever he’s planning, I’m done being kept in the dark. And that’s promise.” With that Liz hung up the phone, slid it into her back pocket, and grabbed the picture. She flipped it over to reveal a year scrawled on the back of the picture,  _ March ‘82 _ . She placed it back on the dresser. A pack of cigarettes, an old radio, and an odd stack of books tied with string were all that remained on the dresser. Liz had narrowed it down to be the point of Red’s fixation before his nimble escape. What was she missing?

The top book on the stack was simply titled  _ Life _ and stood out with it’s bright red hard cover. The others seemed to blend together, an anatomy textbook, one in a foreign language, and two without titles on the spines. The stack looked untouched for decades. The cord that held it together was weathered with age, not use, and sported a faded color of yesteryear. If Liz didn’t know any better, she would say the books were as old as the picture itself. Still, she could not understanding what tipped Red to a clue he seemed unwilling to share. So she snapped a picture of the picture and left the crime scene again as her phone began to ring. She picked up, anticipating Red’s smooth voice coaxing her with a diversion but instead was a little disappointed to hear Aram on the other end.

“Agent Keen, Emilio Tyler is awake and there’s something else you need to see.” 

“I’m on my way.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red and Dembe are hot the trail of their allusive target, the Cheval. After turning up a few rocks, their investigation leads the men to a seedy strip join on the wrong side of town. Red gets his hands dirty and Dembe fights to understand Red's motives as his secrets are coming closer to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments! It's really helping me stay motivated to write and I love this show to pieces. It's nice to be back in the swing of things!

“Why can’t you be honest with her?” Dembe’s eyes glanced into the rearview mirror, but Red would not meet them. Staring pensively out the window, Red stole a moment for an honest answer to a far too complicated question.

“I don’t know,” the truth in that answer troubled him but stood on its merit. With a breath of courage he repeated the statement in exhaustion and freedom it provided. 

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know.”   


He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

“After everything that’s happened. All that’s been lost.” No matter what, Dembe would stick by Red’s side, through every wrong turn and troubled decision, but he needed to understand. 

Red stayed quiet. His answer had not changed. It would require many hours of thought, drink, and maybe a professional to unravel that knot. For now, he’d have to settle for a drug lord.

The car came to a rolling stop with Red’s door already halfway open. The gun in his holster dug into the waistband of his finely tailored pants, a simple reminder of an easier answer. Their current focus, a gentleman’s club on the wrong side of town. It was not one Red would be caught dead in, but this wasn’t for pleasure. It was business. In all fairness, he had slummed in worse. 

Mid day pulled a larger crowd than Red expected as he pushed through a transient looking fellow for a place at the bar. 

“Don’t make any sudden moves,” Red warned the barkeep as he approached sluggishly. “Point with your eyes and I can assure your safety.” In one swift move, Red swiped the gun from his back and placed it gently under his fedora resting on the countertop. 

“The Cheval, where is he?” The barrel of the gun stuck out just enough for Red to get his point across and with Dembe looming in the background, the bartender complied readily. The bartender gave a confused and panicked look before Red let out a sigh with a roll of his eyes. "Lev, where's Lev?"

“Thank you,” Red let out a soft chuckle and reached for the bartender’s hand, palming him some cash and replacing his gun to its holster with the other. He whispered a simple instruction into his ear and turned in the direction the bartender stared, Dembe picking up his hat and following behind 

The music thumped to their footsteps. A group of dancers ready to take the next shift on stage parted like the red sea upon one glance. He was not a man to be trifled with. Being far and wide the best dressed in the joint, he carried of air of gravitas and resolve held by very few. The knowledge he held and his desperate need to protect it from others gave him a dangerous edge that could be sensed for miles. He was a man with very little need for a gun. His words were more than enough. But when push came to shove, he had no trouble taking care of himself. The same could not be said for Lev.

As Red kicked open the back door and disarmed the two guards with Dembe’s help, a young man in his early thirties scrambled across the rather large back room. It only took Red a matter of seconds to get the lay of the land. Immigrant workers, probably undocumented and unable to speak the language, sat packing the deadly street drug that started this whole rat race in assembly line fashion. They posed no threat. On the other end, however, a set of doors with more guards catching on quickly to the commotion. 

“I hate when they run, they always run.” Red sighed and patted his protruding belly. He’d put on some weight over the duration of Liz’s ten month coma. When rendered powerless food was always a comfort, such a nasty habit. Though much safer in comparison to his younger more reckless days, he thought, as he eyed the drugs still being bagged by such dedicated workers. He made note to come back for the workers and another to start jogging again.

Dembe sprinted out in hot pursuit of their target. Red drew his weapon, turning sideways, arm stiff and steady as he pulled the trigger, preventing the other guards from harming his friend. His expensive shoes clacked on the stained cement, lights swinging and flickering above. It created an atmosphere of Red’s younger days. Considering the motive behind Lev’s imminent capture, he was not happy with the memories this little situation trudged up. 

“Lev my dear boy, long time no see.” Dembe tackled the target and threw him in one of the disgusting folding metal chairs.

“I’m afraid you may not recognize me, it was so long ago when we first met.” 

“Your reputation precedes you.” Lev spit unceremoniously at Red’s feet. He had a harsh Jersey accent and eyes that had seen far too much for any one man to handle. “I know exactly who you are.” 

Red kicked the splattered spit and blood mixture from the tip of his favorite oxfords, shaking his head.

“Good, then I can skip the pleasantries. The fact of the matter is, you’re using a recipe that will get you in a lot of trouble if it’s picked up by the wrong person.” Red holstered his gun and approached the familiar boy. Taking his stubbled chin in his long slender fingers, Red twisted the kid’s neck from side to side as if inspecting him. 

“At first, I wondered how anyone could have acquired this specific mixture. Maybe by accident, I thought, but in my line of work there aren’t many coincidences.” The boy’s eyes widened in strain as Red inspected him like a show dog.  


“But then I looked a little closer, lucky that my information lead us right to your doorstep.” Red found the small tattoo nestled behind Lev’s ear he was expecting. Dropping the boy’s face, he nodded to Dembe who tightened his grip causing the target to squirm in discomfort. 

“But someone tipped you off. Maybe it was the unmistakable thudding of the FBI or the string I need to unravel that connects the two of us in this wicked game of cat and mouse.” Red looked the boy directly in the eye, piercing daggers into his soul. “But either way, you have no idea the minefield you just stepped into.”

Red waited a moment, letting his warning sink in. Just as a bead of sweat fell down the boy’s forehead, he leapt back and let out a laugh.

“Ah, but I’m afraid nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance. So Lev, I need you to tell me exactly where you got this recipe and I’ll do you the extreme courtesy of letting dead dogs lie.” Red pulled his gun and cocked back the slide with a satisfying clink of a bullet ready in the chamber. 

“Three,” Red chimed. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” This was an acceptable answer only in truth, Red thought to himself. 

“Two.” Red’s voice grew more stern, any remnants of laughter long gone.

“Okay, okay, it was a buddy of mine.” Lev looked to Dembe for reassurance.

“Wrong answer.” Red grumbled, knowing the truth and merely needing the location. He pulled the trigger, landing the shot directly in his shin. 

Lev wretched a scream that would make even the most hardened of criminals blush, but the music masked it’s velocity and bought the two a little more time for their interrogation.

“Fuck, I don’t know, I don’t know.” The boy screamed and tears streamed down his face. He was in over his head, why couldn’t he just give a straight answer? This wasn’t his game, nor his string of heroin. Only a true genius would create such madness and in fact, he did. Red squeezed his eyes shut in anguish, looking for resolve.

“I’ll ask you one more time or the next one will prevent you from reproducing.” Red let out an irritated sigh and aimed his weapon a little higher. It was only a matter of hours before Lizzy caught onto their trail one way or another. Given those angry voicemails, she was clearly making it a top priority to find him. Flattering, he must admit, but not under the current circumstances. Unfortunately, this was no time for him to play around with Lizzy. He needed to stay three steps ahead and throw a couple of barrels behind him like Donkey Kong. He needed an answer. Now.

“Where did you get this strain?” Red gritted his teeth.

“My old man’s box! He left it to me! I thought it was a load of junk, but then I found this file…” 

“The file, where is it?” 

With the information he needed, he let the boy go. A present for Lizzy and her team of ace detectives when they eventually stumbled into the crime scene, sirens whirring. With a few simple instructions of which he knew Lev would be compliant, they were off. A swift knock to the head and when he woke up next, two agents stood over him, guns drawn and reading his rights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently playing catch up with season 5! I feel like mid season 5 coma Lizzy will be a fun one to explore especially if I can speed up her knowledge of the imposter theory and get some Lizzington on. I do enjoy the complicated angst season 3 and 4 have afforded Red and this twisted fixation/love he has for Lizzy, so I guess this is somewhere in the s5 timeline. Don't think to hard about it though, I know I'm not ahah.

**Author's Note:**

> This is by no means finished, it's just the most I could muster in the moment. If this catches anyone's attention, I'll probably continue it, but I need some encouragement to fall down the rabbit hole again. I'll add more to this chapter soon if the writing feels authentic enough.


End file.
